


shattered glass

by saunatonttu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Forgive Me, M/M, Mental Illness - Depression, starts off as friends with benefits, tsukki centered honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4061296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saunatonttu/pseuds/saunatonttu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he reached the bottom and lay there, in his own space of quiet misery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shattered glass

The beginning was a blurry memory, so far in the back of Kei's mind that it had practically ceased to exist.

Not that the beginning mattered anyway – what mattered was the result of it, the middle where Kei was constantly stuck with no way of pulling himself out.

(He couldn't.

He can't.

He didn't–doesn't–want to free himself from the spider's web.)

 

A Saturday morning, and Kei was heaving the contents of his stomach into a toilet, sweaty curls of hair clinging to his forehead and back of his neck.

Head aching, stomach acids burning in his throat, Kei wasn't entirely sure why he had gone to the party in the first place and why he had decided drinking pure vodka was a good idea.

(Lies – he knows why he thought so.)

He felt sick, _sick_ , _**sick**_

and he was.

 

(There are nights that he spends on not sleeping,

days on not living,

hours on not moving.)

 

The hangover brought a clarity that he didn't have the luxury of obtaining most of the days, and he was slightly thankful even if the words _alcohol is a depressant alcohol is a depressant it is not a solution_ itched under his skin. 

The slight ache behind his temples was a reminder, a constant word  _pathetic_ drumming through his entire body. 

But his mind was clear, clearer than it had been in a while, and Kei felt almost okay. 

Almost – even despite trembling limbs and eyebags darker than the bruise on the side of his knee. 

 

He spent the day on not hating himself.

 

(but it always comes back, the lack of belief in himself)

 

It was three in the morning, and Kei stared at himself in the mirror, stared at the hollow dips of his cheeks and colorless lips and pale complexion that made him look sick.

(He was -is- so very sick.)

Tears stuck to his eyelashes, but they never fell as he stared at his reflection for a while longer, not really seeing himself in the mirror.

_Who are you who are you **whoareyou–**_

A sharp intake of breath broke the silence (in the room, in himself) and Kei finally looked away (from himself, from the truth).

There was a blank space where his heart used to be.

 

 

(he's sick but he doesn't know how to cure himself

doesn't know how to get help

doesn't know anything at all)

 

 

Sex with Kuroo was just that – sex.

(Liar liar, pants on fire.)

It would be easier if Kei didn't like (love) him – easier if he could tell himself he was just confused, that there was no way he could feel something like that -- but there he was, in Kuroo's arms and against Kuroo's lips.

Kuroo was warm against Kei's coldness; he was the fire that didn't hurt Kei.

And Kei needed it so badly.

Not the sex part, but--

( _kuroo, please, please,_ the words come out chokedly)

\--the feeling of not being completely broken, an unfixable piece in the machinery of life.

 

Sex with Kuroo came with soft words of reassurance, gentle hands on Kei's hips, and tender looks that made Kei want to either cry or yell

( _you don't deserve it,_ a nasty whisper from the back of Kei's mind)

and hold onto Kuroo, to not let him slip past Kei's long fingers.

 

Sex with Kuroo was to hold Kei into moments, to hold onto pieces of reality when he was losing his grip otherwise.

It was cruel, perhaps, on Kuroo and on himself, because it was like he was using Kuroo for his own selfish intentions.

Maybe he was.

He just--

He just wanted to _feel_ , even if it was only half an emotion compared to what other people felt.

 

 

The morning afters were silent, neither of them knowing how to break the awkwardness.

( _he's not cool at all, but neither are you_ )

”Remember to eat something,” Kuroo would always say when it was time to leave, late for a class or in a hurry to meet up with Bokuto or Kenma.

He would also smile at Kei

(make him tingle all over)

before ruffling the blond curls of hair, a slow grin on his lips and a soft, worrying glimmer in his eyes.

It made Kei feel sick to his stomach.

( _sick sick sick, you're sick and you can't drag other people into it_ )

 

 

Yamaguchi knew how ill he was (is), and tried so hard for Kei, tried to get him reach out. 

”No,” Kei always told him, both in words and in behavior, and Yamaguchi would stop pushing then, with the look of someone that didn't know what to do, of someone that was running out of strength and ideas. 

Kei hated himself for hurting Yamaguchi. 

( _ pathetic _ , the word rings through his head,  _ utterly pathetic _ )

 

Sometimes he reached the bottom and lay there, in his own space of quiet misery.

He could do absolutely nothing for hours to the sound of his own labored breathing.

(at some point, music had ceased to work its wonders on him)

These were the times he needed to be held, to be pampered, to be told that he wasn't crazy, that he could pull through. 

But there was no one. 

(but there were. He just refused to think about them.)

 

Kuroo was-- 

Kuroo was talking. 

That shouldn't be surprising, considering how he  _ never shuts up _ (Kei needed it, and Kuroo seemed to realize as much) but the things that he said now were different, voice even softer than usual after they had gotten each other off.

Words murmured into the back of Kei's neck, against skin as pale as moonlight. 

”You're so, so strong.”

Words that made Kei's hollow heart beat a little harder, a little like a pair of hummingbird wings. 

”I can't make it go away, but I am here.” 

Kuroo's breath stuttered, his voice soft. ”If you want me to be, Kei.” 

His name from Kuroo's mouth was a heartwrenching sound, something that could utterly destroy Kei if he allowed it to. 

Kei's breath hitched, his heart skipping a beat. 

(for the first time since forever, he feels--)

 

_ Please, please, please,  _ the words were on the tip of Kei's tongue.

(please stay, please don't go, please  _ please  **please** _ )

 

”I'm really sick, you know,” Kei whispered, his voice almost lost into the pillow his head was tucked into. 

”I know.” Kuroo's hand on his hip was a good thing, a good sensation to Kei. 

”I get really awful.” The words made Kei's eyes sting, so he burrowed his head deeper into the pillow, feeling himself quake at the anxiety ripping at him.

”Nothing I can blame you for,” Kuroo said, the words sounding a lot like truth. ”It's not your fault.”

_ it's not your fault  _ echoed in Kei's ears and mind, each echo more powerful than the rest, but Kei couldn't find it in himself to believe them. 

But hearing them made him cry, anyway. 

”Thank you,” he whispered between silent sobs, between the rubs of Kuroo's hands. ” _Thank you._ ”

 

 

The morning after found Kei seated comfortably on Kuroo's lap as he was fed spoonfuls of strawberry shortcake, each one a little tastier than the other. 

Kuroo did most of the talking, and that was fine with Kei. It was fine with both of them, and Kei found himself smiling faintly and weakly to Kuroo's latest Bokuto anecdote. 

 

_ I'm here, I'm here,  _ Kuroo's voice echoed in Kei's body, the words holding a world of emotions that Kei didn't think he deserved. 

But maybe he could lean into the warmth.

Maybe he could be okay instead of almost. 

 

(look up, and you'll see – you are not alone)

 

**Author's Note:**

> i can't explain this. i'm sorry


End file.
